Page 6 of Tangwystle
But if he turned out to be like Gretel’s employer. Like Master Clinemell. . . I would not like that at all.
I knew exactly why Gretel’s smile annoyed me. Because in my mind, I couldn’t understand how she had the capacity to keep smiling.
Not when I’d found her almost a year ago, lying by the river.
It was a spot I used to see her at frequently. Manor Blackwell kept me busy, but the master of the house liked a type of simple order. Once I got it down to a schedule, I had time to read. I’d go down to the river and sometimes spot her there.
Once, I’d seen her with her dress lifted, her shoes off. She’d laughed when she saw me and waved. I’d squinted in the sunshine, thinking to myself she shouldn’t be walking around barefoot. What if there had been snakes or bugs around?
But then again, by that point I’d known Gretel wasn’t a practical person.
About a year before Baz arrived, the kitchen had grown so stifling in the summer heat that I forced myself to go outside. I wandered down to the river, liking that it was one of thefew spots of nature that wasn’t corroded by the factories or overloaded by scavengers looking to pick up a bit of food or coin.
I stepped through the grass and kicked a rock as I went. It skittered over the bumpy terrain, and I followed it with my gaze. Down and down, until it rolled into a person.
I came to a complete stop, thinking for a moment that a scavenger had finally tried to claim the riverbank. Most didn’t dare go so close to this part of town, knowing many of the manors were owned by those with money, magic, and therefore power.
But it wasn’t a scavenger. Blonde curls against the grass gave away who it was.
The back of her dress was torn, blood oozing from her back.
My knees landed in the grass. “Gretel!” I shook her, trying to see if she would wake. All I got was a funny-sounding moan. The noise shook through me like nails raking down stone.
Wrong, everything about this was so wrong.
I knew Master Clinemell to be a heartless man. This was something else entirely, though.
My fists curled, and for a few seconds I sat pathetically, afraid to touch her. Another, breathy, terrified moan from the girl prompted me forward.
It made for an awkward walk, trying to carry her back to Blackwell Manor.
See, for women in our positions, whatever a master wanted, he could get. For some, like Master Blackwell, it meant a prompt teatime and scones with a bit of fruit mixed in.
But Gretel was much prettier than I. And Master Clinemell much younger than Master Blackwell.
And I knew Gretel slept with him.
I’d passed by their manor, along a walkway only used by the various servants in the neighborhood. My steps faltered at the distinctive sound of a hand slapping against flesh. My stomachtightened, my breath leaving me. Not out of surprise. No—you’d find a servant receiving discipline hardly unusual. I did my best to keep quiet, though, to creep down the hill and toward the market.
But then I heard giggling.
And when I passed by the gate, I couldn’t help it. Clinemell Manor is similar in shape and structure to Blackwell’s. It received more visitors, and as such, I peeked into the open gate before to see the rose-lined courtyard.
I caught sight of Gretel with her dress pulled up.
And she kept giggling as Clinemell spanked her.
What a stupid woman, I thought to myself. Then she made another noise. Something caught in the back of her throat, something I didn’t want to hear. Something that made me. . .
Stupid woman, I told myself again as I hurried away. But I’m not sure who I was speaking to in that moment. Me or Gretel.
But perhaps Gretel’s giggling couldn’t always save her. In this instance, something had spurred Clinemell’s wrath.
And I knew it had to be him. As a servant, she rarely had leave, outside of coming down by the riverbank or going into the market. I’d seen no carriages the past few days, and they were easy enough to spot in the neighborhood despite our two properties being a slight distance away.
I dragged her up to Blackwell Manor.
In those days, Master Blackwell spent much of his time in the library, and Boswell appeared nowhere in sight. This was for the best as Clinemell could do as he pleased, and despite her need for assistance, Gretel was still at the mercy of her employer.
